The Shaman by James Ellison
by High Priestess Lunatic
Summary: Jim wakes up and smells the coffee. This is a short fic.


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Disclaimer: The Sentinel, its characters, premise, sets and related paraphernalia all belong to other people. All I own are my somewhat disorganized thoughts and the taste in my mouth. Please do not sue me.

High Priestess Lunatic

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The Shaman by James Ellison

Carolyn and I were married for six months before she threw in the towel. In the last four years Blair has been kidnapped, drugged, beaten, shot, ignored, verbally abused, deprived of sleep, exposed to the elements, threatened, harassed, and murdered by various sociopaths and myself yet he is still here.

He told me it was for a paper, but I have been to college. It does not take this long to gather information for a dissertation when you only have one subject. Especially when the subject is still alive not a ten thousand-year-old mummified virgin sacrificed to satisfy a primitive god.

He told me 'it is about friendship', but do you see any of my other friends doing this much for me? There are no 'army' buddies crawling out of the woodwork to have a beer with me. Most times Simon does not even _want _to know how I do what I do and he has known me years longer than Blair has. 

My father alienated my extended family after my mother took off, then he abandoned Stephen and me emotionally. Stephen and I are about as close as chimps and humans on the evolutionary scale. Blood is the only thing between us; we are just organ donors for each other should that need ever arise.

At the end of year one, I spent a whole hour seriously considering the possibility of a china pattern-picking, toothbrush sharing, hyphenated last name 'us.' I would take him home to meet dad who'd have a stroke and drop dead. Naomi would meditate herself into a coma. Megan would win the office pool.

I told Blair and he suggested we get hitched in Vermont, move to the mountains, and build a log cabin. I could get a job as forest ranger; he would take up botany. We'd adopt foreign children, all sentinels of course, and name them after spirit totems: little Jimmy Jaguar, Patrice Panther, and William Wolf. .

We laughed until beer came out our noses. Yes we were drunk. Very drunk. I would NEVER consider marrying Blair without a high blood alcohol ratio or a serious hallucinogen involved. I love the guy, but he's got more body hair than a gorilla and his morning breath is a biohazard on par with VX gas.

Plus my quip about table leg is not that far fetched. Sometimes it seems like Blair has gotten a mandate from on high that he is to spread his seed near and far so that there is a population of Sandburgs in every time zone on Earth. Not that I'd complain. Having a Sandburg on hand has certainly made my life better.

I woke up this morning to the smell of fresh coffee. Coffee that has been untouched by fiendish chemicals that can screw with sentinel senses in the long run. Coffee straight from the hills of Kenya, where a friend Blair met in his globe trotting travels grows it. 

Yesterday one of his students had the shit beaten out of him. Yesterday the University he has slaved for fired him. Yesterday I was about as sensitive as a brick. Today, when I came downstairs, my breakfast was cooked. My coffee was hot. My newspaper was handed to me by my friend smiling at me. 

As I sipped the coffee I got to thinking, and suddenly reality slapped me in he face like a coffee burned tongue. 

This is not a professional relationship. 

This is more than a friendship. 

More than even the bonds of blood or matrimony. 

What is this and why is Blair here? 

I honestly do not know.

But I'm going to do everything in my power to make him _want _to stay.

Today, I am going to start trying to earn _his _friendship.

Thanks to an untouched trust fund set up by my mother. A frugal life of saving for a rainy day and the magic of compound interest I have a fortune stocked away. I know one of the editors of the National Geographic Magazine. 

For a million-dollar donation, Frank will set up a fellowship, which Blair will win. Blair will travel the Earth writing report on the obscure yet interesting for a major magazine, with a descent salary and expense account.

Unlike Borneo, I will be with him. I have enough unused paid and unpaid vacation days accumulated to take off for eight months, at the very least. I will be his bodyguard, his map handler, his pilot, his medic, his proofreader, his driver, his photographer, his back up and anything else he needs me to be.

Besides, after being the subject of such determined and undivided attention I want to study Blair in _his _natural environment. 

I can see it now: The Shaman by James Ellison.

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I can't believe I finished a story. Completely finished and under one thousand words Comments, constructive criticism and ego stroking are welcome. 


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